Trial of Three

by Alex Lidell

  Slowly, carefully, the qoru twists toward River. Jawrar’s leathery gray hand rises. Slashes down.

  River doesn’t scream, but I do as I see the skin on his cheek pull away from his flesh, splitting into a whip-like gash. River jerks against his guards’ hold, his jaw tight. Another stripe appears, this one on his neck, spraying his shirt with blood. A third, on his back. A fourth. The fifth strike of Jawrar’s invisible whip finally draws a grunt of pain from River’s shaking form.

  “Muffle it,” Jawrar orders the night guardsmen holding River. “I can’t hear above the noise.”

  Turning his attention right back to me, the qoru’s slitted nostrils expand. “The female smells wrong,” he calls to someone in the cellar behind him. “This little filly has no blood of yours, Griorgi. Not even of fae.”

  “Of course not,” answers a low voice, its deep sophistication hauntingly familiar. A corruption of a voice that I know and hold dear. Its owner enters the room a few heartbeats later. As large and dark-haired as River, with shoulders wide enough for two males, King Griorgi wears an intricate tunic of brown leather studded with rubies. Harsh and gaudy. Like River, Griorgi steals all the air from the room, but through a toxic presence rather than a commanding one. The strong planes of his face echo River’s, but his nose comes to a hook that turns him from handsome to hawkish. Eerily familiar gray eyes skip over River—who’s biting back screams through the gag stuffed into his mouth—to rest on Jawrar. “Autumn is not part of this little nonsense. Let me speak to my pup.”

  The night guardsmen holding River pull the gag from his mouth, though the invisible lashes continue to mark his shirt with blood.

  River gasps for breath, spitting blood to the floor as he straightens his back. His chin rises, pain hidden behind his blazing gray eyes. “What are you about, Father? Working with Jawrar? Have you lost all sense?”

  “And you wondered why I didn’t choose him as my emissary,” Griorgi calls over his shoulder to Jawrar, before returning his gaze to River. “Is this truly what you’ve come to, son? Scurrying about the Gloom like a foot soldier? Mingling with sniveling mortals? Tell me, does Klarissa clip a leash on you when you are back at the Citadel? Do you still enjoy following after her like a lost pup, pissing on walls at her command?”

  My breath catches, River’s utter lack of emotion burning my heart. He knew. Not that Griorgi was here, working with Jawrar, but what his father was. Is. What Griorgi thinks of his son. A critical, soul-wrenching piece of River’s world that he’s kept from me. Just like he once tried to conceal his royal lineage from me altogether.

  The knowledge that River never truly trusted me hurts as badly as watching him bleed.

  Griorgi strides forward and squats before his son, his strong features twisted into a cold frown. “The world is changing, River. Lunos is changing. This reveal might be a bit ahead of schedule, but truth is truth. The qoru are coming out of Mors into a new world. One where Lunos and Mors are allies. Trading partners.”

  “With you in charge of Lunos?” River says, viscous blood now dripping to the floor beneath him, the new wounds not even appearing through his soaked shirt.

  “Of course,” Griorgi says simply.

  “And when Jawrar decides to drain you and leave your husk to rot?” River says. “What happens then?”

  Griorgi sighs, shaking his head. “Stop letting your own fear cloud your senses, boy. A good alliance isn’t built on trust; it is built on checks and balances and contingencies. My death would stop the good emperor here from being able to travel to Lunos, and that is something neither of us would find convenient.” Griorgi’s voice changes. Becomes deeper, more dominating than even Jawrar’s. “You are still my blood, River. My flesh. Join me, and I will welcome you back.”

  “Go to hell,” River growls.

  Griorgi rises, shaking his head. “Idiot, but still mine,” he tells Jawrar over his shoulder. “I want to keep him. If nothing else, it will bring the other one trotting in. Sooner than I’d have liked, but flexibility is a virtue.”

  The other one. Autumn, who’s in charge of Slait Court’s Gloom patrols.

  “Do you truly need the girl’s assistance?” Jawrar asks, a hint of exasperation entering his voice. “If those patrols are so bloody loyal to her, just scorch the Gloom and be done with it. I little like the extra moving parts.”

  Griorgi crosses his arms and shrugs, his ruby-studded armor moving gracefully. “I could. I choose not to.” A hint of a smile. “My intent is not to let you roam free throughout Slait, Jawrar, which is what your request would accomplish, but to bring the rogue elements under my control. Dead warriors do very little for me.”

  “I’ll get you new warriors,” Jawrar says with a snort.

  “No doubt.” Griorgi smiles in earnest, the intelligent glint in his gray eyes so like Autumn’s that my breath catches. “However, I will make the decisions about my court. I’m certain you understand.” Not an idiot. Whatever else the bastard is, he unfortunately is not an idiot. “River lives,” Griorgi continues. “You may kill the others. Feed on them if you wish, or have them disposed of outright. I little need the extra bodies around. This isn’t a—”

  “Meat market?” Jawrar’s lipless face twitches in what I can only assume is a smirk. “Debatable. However, yes, I do take your meaning. There has been too much playing with food as it is. The mortal and that buck over there, I want to speak with personally. The rest, we’ll have taken care of in a few hours.”

  26

  Lera

  “Wait!” I don’t realize I’m speaking until my own voice fills the room. The sudden silence, punctuated by River’s quiet grunts of pain, presses on me from all sides. My heart races, my voice hitching despite my best effort at control.

  I can’t let this happen. Won’t let this happen. For a moment, I’m back in Zake’s stable, trying to talk him out of hunting a wolf I’d met only in my dreams—needing to try no matter how slim my chances. Twisting my head, I find King Griorgi’s eyes, nearly flinching from their familiarity. From the body that is too much like my commander’s. “River is losing a great deal of blood. If you truly want him to live, please ask Emperor Jawrar to stop the lashes.”

  The night guardsman closest to me backhands me across the face, knocking me to the floor. Pain echoes through my body, my face and shoulders stinging. A loud growl rips through the room. Over the reverberating impact, I hear Coal’s chains clank as he fights uselessly against them, Tye and Shade’s wolf both lunging for me only to be slammed to the ground by the night guardsmen holding them.

  A knife flashes in Griorgi’s hand, its point suddenly pressing against the base of my ear. “Stand down, colts,” Griorgi tells my males. “Or Emperor Jawrar will have a maimed toy.”

  The males stop, their breaths ragged. But that little matters just now. Sprawled on the stone, I find River’s eyes. They’re wild with fury, trained on his father’s knife against my neck—fury and fear. My heart aches. I hold his gaze, begging him silently for trust. The kind he’s not given me before. The kind that will cost him his pride.

  His intelligent gaze pierces mine with confusion. Then, with a twitch of his brow, the male goes slack in his captors’ grip. “I’m fine,” he growls, the words a perfect, tremulous hair short of being believable. “Worry for yourself, mortal lass.”

  Smart male. I’m careful not to turn my head as I speak to Griorgi. “You said you wished him to live,” I whisper. “Whatever Jawrar’s magic is doing, it’s not normal. Look.”

  Griorgi hesitates, glancing at River, whose blood now pools around his knees. However the male manages to increase his own bleeding, I thank the stars for it.

  “Jawrar,” Griorgi hollers to the qoru. “End the punishment. Dead males learn no lessons.”

  I catch Shade’s golden eyes for a split second then flick them back to Griorgi, praying to all the stars that the wolf gets the message.

  I can’t see what the emperor does, but whatever has been lashing River stops. The male
slumps deeper between the two fae holding him, his breaths fast and shallow, his eyes glazed. Now that the beating has ended, he looks to be on the very edge of consciousness. It’s so convincing that even my own throat tightens. Griorgi’s eyes widen slightly. The night guardsmen release River’s arms and he falls, his face hitting the ground.

  In a flash of light, Shade turns to his fae form, holding up his empty hands toward Griorgi. “Will you let me stop the bleeding? He doesn’t have too much longer otherwise.”

  Griorgi’s lip curls. Eyes on Shade, he grabs the back of my shirt and hauls me to my feet like a ragdoll. His thick arm wraps around my neck, pressing me against his body. His scent surrounds me, earthy like River’s, but with a sour, coppery tang that makes acid rise in my throat. “Move slowly, shifter,” he tells Shade. “I’d hate to have to snap this little one’s neck for no reason.”

  Shade draws his hair back into a low, black bun, silently buying me time.

  Drawing shallow breaths, I survey the room. Griorgi and Jawrar have ensured that neither we nor Kora’s quint can touch each other to summon greater power. Coal and Kora’s quint mates are all chained, taking up the last of the restraints. Tye is on his knees. The silver sheen of Shade’s magic spiders across River, whose muffled cries of pain draw the hungry gazes of the two qoru soldiers still left. The Night Guard quints are all close enough to each other to form a physical connection if needed. Damn.

  Focusing inside me, I catalog what I have. The untamed tiger of Tye’s power still simmers in my veins, twining now with the active healing power flowing from Shade. Although I can’t touch the male, he’s positioned himself as close to me as possible, and I feel him engage all the power he has, shining with it like a small sun. River’s magic is the weakest of the three, only a tiny spark from when he made the ground shake earlier.

  As for Coal . . . far away and chained . . . I feel nothing from him at all. My gaze cuts to him, finding the male fighting silently against his chains, his blue eyes glazed with fury and panic. Fury and panic that I should be feeling.

  Stars, the male is protecting me even now, somehow blocking the feelings to keep me from spiraling in the same horrid darkness that I can see is consuming him. I try to catch his eyes but he refuses to look in my direction, as if doing so would be more than he could bear.

  Well, he’ll have to get over that, won’t he? Because just now, my being different from all the fae is our only hope. I’m weak and small and mortal. And I’m a weaver, the most powerful of beings. I don’t need physical contact to connect my quint.

  At least, that’s my working theory.

  Begging the stars that River’s pain-filled breaths can keep our captors’ attention a bit longer, I force my mind onto a connection of a different sort. During the second trial, Coal was nowhere near me, yet the bridge he built between us worked even with the distance. A bridge that I hope I can build just as well.

  Focusing on Coal, I take my mind back to our greatest merging, my thoughts filling with images. Coal’s bedchamber. His hands on me. My hands on him. Our connection in a fury of passion and violence, our blood and magic simmering with need.

  Coal twitches, his head swiveling in confusion. Yes, he feels it. Feels me.

  I press harder. Mercilessly. I fill my mind with the memory of me shoving him atop the bed, driving my nails along his skin until he grabs my wrists. The push and pull of our power, echoing and growing together. My thighs press together even here as the Coal in my mind’s eye bends me over the bed. The smell of his arousal—

  Coal’s cock twitches inside his trousers and the qoru twist toward him.

  “It missed us,” one says, walking up to Coal. Running a finger along his cheek.

  I grip Coal’s fierce blue eyes, wishing I didn’t have to take him there just now. Not with the qoru who hurt him so close. But we fight with the weapons we have, not the ones we find convenient.

  Me. Us. Stay with me, Coal. It is the only way.

  Coal grips my eyes. Holds. And after a torturous heartbeat, I feel his answering pang, a bridge made of his own need extending toward me. Power fills my muscles, wakes my nerves, spikes my senses until the cellar seems flooded with light. The magic flows so much stronger than it did over a bridge of nightmares that for a moment I think I could fly.

  I force myself back to reality, to the male still holding his arm across my neck. With the cord of Coal’s magic joining the others’, my body feels full to bursting with power, ready to explode and tear me into shards. I shake as the phantom limbs of magic flail wildly, painfully. My thoughts grow muddled, as if wrapped in cotton.

  I have the males’ magic but I don’t have control of it. The more I struggle to gather the cords together, the more they slip from my grasp. Coal’s and Shade’s magical strands are the strongest, River’s a tiny shadow of what it should be, and Tye’s . . . That tiger makes up in power for what it lacks in submission.

  “Finish,” Griorgi barks at Shade, oblivious to my silent struggle. “Now.”

  “Sir—” Shade starts to protest.

  “River is healed enough to survive the bond break now.” Griorgi snaps his fingers at the qoru. “I’m done with the shifter. Feed now, or I’ll have him put down.”

  I slam my elbow into Griorgi’s ribs, my hands gripping the arm he has around my neck. With the strength of another world, I yank down on the joint, creating enough space to escape.

  “Keep the arm,” Coal’s voice barks from somewhere in the room.

  Arm. Right. One hand sliding over to grip the male’s wrist, I ram the heel of my other hand against his elbow.

  The king yells in surprise and pain as his joint strains, and he bends to relieve the pressure. Freeing his elbow, Griorgi spins away, turning to face me on slightly bent knees, chest heaving.

  Distantly, I notice the night guardsmen preparing to attack and Jawrar stopping them with one hand, a faint smile on his terrifying face. The bastard is curious.

  “What the hell are you?” the king demands—a question I’m quickly growing used to. He advances slowly, eyes flashing in a new assessment of me. Larger than River, powerful enough that his mere presence fills the entire room just as his cold gray eyes pierce through me, shattering the bravery I had when I wasn’t facing him head-on. Dark, sweaty hair frames Griorgi’s severe face, a long scar on it reminding me of another master.

  All of a sudden, my breath stutters. My heart leaps into a gallop and blood drains from my face, my hands wet and clumsy. I step back, trip, flail my arms to keep my balance. The magic burbling inside me flares so hard, its aftershocks make the world blink at the edges. Familiar voices shout around me, but I can’t work through the words’ meanings.

  “Answer me, wench,” Griorgi booms, his hand rising for a strike. A ring flashes on a large knuckle, its ruby likely to split my face. “What—”

  The ground rumbles beneath us, sending both Griorgi and me toppling to the ground. River. A moment of relief floods my body as Griorgi’s trance over me dissolves, but then I feel a new sensation.

  River’s magic, the echo of which has thus far only whispered in my blood, suddenly roars to life. The scent of rocky earth fills my senses, and I can practically feel dry, sandy soil crumbling between my fingers.

  The fourth cord.

  A final phantom limb of power, fully connecting the quint inside me. If I thought the magic was powerful before, now it’s a tsunami that threatens to drown the world. My eardrums ache with the pressure, my scalp tingling as thousands of tiny sparks run up and down my skin. A low keening whistles in my ears, though I can’t tell if something is actually making the noise or if it’s only in my mind. I grip the strands together—Tye’s fire magic, especially, refusing any sort of control. Wild and raw. Indignant as only a feline can get.

  Stars, the magic cords have personalities.

  I push my way to my knees and blink, the ceiling’s wooden beams coming into focus. A dim little candle that somehow made it into the Gloom without its brethren han
gs from the center of one rafter. The tiger of Tye’s magic roars at the little flame, as if spotting prey that the predator in it can’t let pass.

  The inferno of power inside me grows, the four cords pulsating with it. Swelling against my grip. Stalking their prey. The magic bunches like living muscle and . . . I feel the power bolting the moment before it happens, my heart freezing with paralyzing, helpless dread.

  One heartbeat I’m holding the four cords of magic together, and the next they are holding me.

  A wordless scream escapes my throat, my body flying back from the force of an explosion. And another. Another. Like Coal’s stallion, Czar, who once bolted with me to Mystwood, the strands of the males’ magic drag me along with their raging fury.

  Flame rises up and up and up, the cracking of wood and stone deafening. I try to let go of the magic, to make it stop, but I can no more halt it than I could stop Czar. The cords wrap themselves tighter around me, pulsing and lashing. Each whip-like strike of power sends a new boom of destruction through the crumbling cellar. The whole top half of the house explodes in a rain of deadly debris. Blue. Red. White. Black.

  Shade lunges for me, grabbing my body and rolling to River, who is already throwing up a shield.

  “Leralynn!” River’s hands are on my cheeks, his beautiful gray eyes filling all of my world.

  I struggle to turn, to see what’s happening. What I’ve done.

  The stone wall the prisoners were once bolted to no longer exists. Coal, chains still dangling from his limbs, now swings them as weapons to bring down the qoru beside him, blue eyes blazing. Jawrar is nowhere to be seen, having left his qoru and night guardsmen to die for him.

  Kora calls an order and the females in her quint pull together, some crawling to make their hands touch. A shimmering green shield springs to life around them, barely in time to stop a blast of splitting stones from crushing them into pulp.